Farewell
by Anonymous9
Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry works for Deniables, Ron and Hermione are together. Mostly angst, but some things will bring the two of them together. rated T for now, may go up.
1. Farewell and Beginings

Angst-ridden

All characters from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. This is a work of fiction (its fan fiction, really) and any part of this written work resembles anything in real life is purely coincidental (maybe…)

* * *

The typical English rain permeated through his invisibility cloak. Here he was, standing in the rain, water pouring, mixing, mingling with his tears, fogging up his spectacles. He was looking in, not caring if anyone, muggles or otherwise, bumps into him, in fact, a few did. But he didn't care. All he cared was looking in. _They say I'm all powerful, but its not true. I'm a failure in disguise._ Having been on the job for two days without sleep, he should have been apparating back home, sleeping in his apartment (despite being financially well off, he lives in a small apartment). No, he had to take a chance, just one last time for the night. 

There she is, holding that beautiful child with tufts of red hair, caressing with love and care. Herboyfriend smiling, hugging, cooing along with her. _How lucky can they be? Do they know what I have lost in order to give this life?_ Sometimes, he just feels that he not only needs to risk death for the world, but to live it for the world as well. _All these years…Not unexpected, but all these years._ Some rumours created long ago still circle about, like the fact that he is loves Ginerva The truth is, that died quickly in the beginning of the Hunt. _All these years…_

The man, known throughout the world since the magical/non-magical mergence, was in hiding. Not because he is in wanted by the authorities, but because it was the only way to shun the hurt since the Wedding. _If there is anyone who objects the joining of these two lovers, speak now or forever hold your peace._ Naturally, he did. Love may have killed Voldemort, but what is left is an empty shell of a man who knows that all love received is hopeless if he cannot give love in return. _Goodnight, my friend._ With a small whisper, like a gust of wind, he apparated back into his abode, bringing with him painful memories, and leaving happy times, once again, into the cheery home and roaring fire.

Shedding the cloak and taking a deep shower, he fell immediately to sleep, dreaming of dreams he dreamt every night since the Victory.

_

* * *

__Three Years Later_

The night was a moonless one. Trees surrounded the both of them. One chasing the other. Branches reached out to the both of them, hoping to snatched either one into its ensnaring arms, tangling one forever. A blast of light from a wand tripped the runner. Down he went and the chaser, a man of raven hair quickly went to the spot of the downed runner. Picking the person up, both disappeared in a pop, leaving the sounds of the night forest to replace any and all foreign noises around the area.

The raven haired man suddenly appeared in a room filled with people, many wearing badges not unlike of those found belonging to the Royal Police Force. "Here he is, sir, Number 47, present and accounted for."

A man returned with short, "Good job, Harry. Bring him to lockup." "All right George," was the reply the man received. The man was around his fifties, but being ex-military in the magical world, he has already tried to push down the growing gut. The stress was also killing him, always finding himself going through at least two cigars per day. Harry was his best man at tracking the remaining DE's (Death Eaters) and he does it exceptionally well. _Too well. Wonder if the lad had any slept at all._ In fact, the capture of Number 47 was assigned to Harry barely 72 hours ago. This was the 13th case that Harry has done for the past month. Less than a month ago, George Peuric (pronounced Purik under penalty of death) had to force Harry to take two weeks off after taking on 23 cases himself. "No partners. That was the deal, George" and no partner was ever given to the young Captain in Deniables. _A walking zombie, that lad is._ Returning to the amassing paperwork, George continued to find the plot the location of Number 48._ This time, I'll let that new kid, Nick, handle it._ As for Harry, he's due for another forced vacation.

Down in "Lock-up" Harry brought Number 47 to a room of pure white. The walls were paid special attention to as pillow charms, anti-apparition spells, cameras, microphones and other ends were increasing well laid upon these walls. A prison with no escape. If Azkaban was torture to the mind, Lock-Up was torture both mind and body. No privacy and only the horrors of reliving past crimes is allowed in this place. As for Harry, he was dead tired. Not having slept for the past three days, he was ready to return to the apartment and sleep the regulatory 12 hours before returning to the Firm. Giving Number 47 to the Lock-Up crew, Harry went straight out to the apparition point and gave a loud pop to his apartment. Shedding off his wet clothes for dry ones, Harry immediately went to sleep, but not before his eyes glance fleetingly with longing of a picture beside his bed. Dreaming of nightmares he cannot fight. Dreaming of the woman in the picture, the baby in her arms, and a herboyfriend wrapping his arms around the woman he, Harry loves.

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**Author Notes:** After reading the 6th book, I was quite surprised with the complete 360 of certain things. Ron excluded (he's just his daft self in the book). Don't know who is reading these A/N's but a **_WARNING_**, this will be quite angst ridden, and poorly written because of the late nights I'm writing this and not being betae'd. Oh, before you people hound me for more of this work, a word of **_CAUTION_**, this work will come very slowly (school starts in 6 days) 


	2. Islands

Part 2 folks--57 read, 1 review. Come on, get those fingers typing a few words.

As usual, nothing belongs to me!

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"Absolutely not, Harry!" screamed George. His beefy face was turning red from either anger or pure frustration. No one in the room knew. But everyone knew never to be in the warpath of George Peuric. It means instant death. Even the most zombie-like of them all, Harry Potter, cringed in fear. "You are not taking this assignment. No questions. No, don't defy me— " raising his hand to stop a probable 'but' from the young agent, though the said agent is having a hard time breathing. "I'm putting you on company leave," George continued. "Get your arse out of here and don't report back in two weeks. God damn it, Harry, you're a fucking walking ghost out there. I can't have you literally dying on the job. It isn't worth it. Tickets are ready for you outside. Get a goddamn vacation. Trust me, it'll do you good." 

With a small wave, the other two men in the room quickly guided the again-shell shocked captain out of the room. Outside, he was handed a plane ticket and was soldiered out of Deniables.

With the rain pouring again outside, Harry went through the motions: walked to the apparition point, apparated to the front of his flat, inserted his key, and went in. Not bothering to strip out of his wet clothes, He took up a glass of scotch and gunned a few glasses in him. Feeling very much-alive from the recent swim in London and the fire burning liquid, he returned to normality. Or as normal as he can get. _Tahiti? Why the hell is George sending me to Tahiti. No phones, no magic folks, _no work! _Damn those enforced vacations anyway. The assignments are the only thing keeping my dreams away._ _Keeping me alive for the past three years._

As part of the mergence with the non-magical world, the Council of Magic has decided to set up Deniables. An ultra-secret, or Black, community that is tasked to detect and take down evil sects like the death eaters. Included in their mission was the pledge to protect the community at large, and worked very much like the K section in Muggle-England's Military Intelligence (think special forces with CIA). The worker drones are deniables. Their work always classified as Black Secret (the highest classification in the Wizarding World), and they work for something that is, naturally, denied by the government. In a word, Deniables replaced the Dept. of Mysteries. Harry Potter was a special case. Having plucked from a huge net of potential agents by men and women who are given none of the potential agent's name, nor of their history, but only of their skills and the scores from a battery of tests ranging from OWLS, NEWTS, Muggle Law Enforcement and Military examinations. In fact, it was a surprise for George Peuric when Harry Potter's name was on a list. This was three years ago. Peuric personally talked to the international hero in a bar filled with unwanted people. He found Harry drinking like a mad man. Just saying his name and whom he worked for, Harry just asked, "When do I start?" From that moment, Harry Potter's employment and life became a secret.

* * *

The first forced vacation was a killer for Harry. With nothing to do in Canada, Harry merely went through the motions of life, bringing Hedwig and Crookshanks (a parting gift from the Her, along with a necklace) along. Never leaving the rented hotel room for some fun. Always dreaming, and writing letters that will never be read nor send to the addressed name. Coming back to Deniables and placing a more cheerful face than what he left, though the Chief could see the through the façade and into the hollowed eyes, Peuric could only hand Harry another assignment to begin Deniables' work day. 

The plane ride was smooth, silent, and uneventful. Watching the two movies and listening to the 11 different radio stations while in the air, Harry caught up with the real world, if just for a short time. One of Deniables travel agent/operater met Harry in Tahiti and drove him to a hotel with a clear sky, (clearly a blessing from the pouring English weather) crystal clear blue water, and white beaches. A luxury for anyone but Harry. No, for Harry instantly spot a tuft of red hair along the beaches. A child no more than four years of age. A tug in his heart and Harry had to turn away. Locking himself up in the room.

Never one for spinning up an extravagant fee for anything (even company paid), Harry slowly sauntered down into the hotel's restaurant. Asking for a table with a view, he was quickly seated. Ordering the house wine, he returned to his private thoughts and the famous thousand-meter-stare many veterans of the war developed.

"Oh. My. God! Harry, is that you?" a feminine voice asked. A glance and Harry was blown out of his mind. _Never thought that I would finally meet her._ There she was: a radiant angel with a child. Following this ever-so-lovely angel was his childhood best friend. _When did I lose the innocence? _"Hello, Hermione," Harry answered.

"Harry! When did you arrive?" This question was voiced by the red-head who gave the now-standing Harry a large hug and a slap at the back. _Still friends. _"Just today." He answered.

Still with a cheery grin, Ron whistled up a waiter and asked to bring Harry's table set to his own. Making an effort to begin a life-long reunion after three years of absences. Joining them, Harry was whisked away to a history of a person who has his name, but was not him _now_. Joking like good times and reminiscing on memories of a bygone era. While all three were heavily in the War, Hermione and Ron were together during the long war of five years. Searching for the Horcruxes brought new emotions that had to be dealt and expressed. For Harry, it was a time to bring his "secret weapon" of love against Voldemort. Vowing never to allow their kids to be brought up in a land of terror. His love for the then not-even-conceived child was, and still is strong. A promise to her (unbeknownst to her) Harry has placed in his will, all his property and funds from his vault to the child of Ron and Hermione Weasely.

"So how about visiting the sights together, Harry?" a pause. "Harry? Mate? You inside?" Ron asked. "Yeah. Sorry. Just remembering the past," a partial truth. "What was it you said?"

"How about visiting around this b-e-a-utiful archipelago of islands, eh"

"Sure. Just tell me the time and I'll be there"

The rest of the time was filled with fake, but to the untrained, quite real, laughs and jokes of times of old. Retiring as soon as the courses were over (three courses) Harry bid them goodnight and patted the little carrot-patch and waved goodbye.

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Author Note: Chapt 2 is done. Thanks for the support from 1 (one) person who reviewed. It kept me going. I promise (though it will be belately done) this story will go to a more cheerful note. Until next time 


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